


Pinfeathers

by Casei_Solus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Naga Dean, Omega Castiel, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casei_Solus/pseuds/Casei_Solus
Summary: Inspired by SillyBlue's Naga!Dean 'verse.It's Castiel's molt, and the itchiness is getting so unbearable that he becomes desperate enough to ask for help.





	

“Uuugggh,” Castiel groaned in frustration.

It was the time of year that Angels molt, and this being his first in Naga territory, it was _absolutely miserable_. All over the back of his wings and his scapulars was a persistent, incessant itch. And that would be bad enough, if it wasn’t also accompanied by a prickling pain, like thousands of tiny needles were jabbing into him. 

It was a fucking pain.

Dean had immediately taken note of his change in behavior and suggested a molting spa, assuming that it would help someone with feathers as much as it helped someone with scales. But ever since the almost-drowning incident, when the absolute soaking of his wings and the heavy humidity had caused his wings to take _days_ to dry out, Castiel wasn’t eager to dip his wings in water again anytime soon.

Sam suggested buying a backscratcher, so of course Dean bought him five, of varying lengths and tooth size. That Naga was such a sweetheart sometimes, bless him.

And while the backscratchers did help, it didn’t solve the matter. Because Angels weren’t supposed to go through their molt alone - it was supposed to be a bonding activity, when the angels would sit in a circle and help massage the wings and clean them out. An Angel couldn’t comfortably make it through a molt alone - they can’t reach so many parts of their own wings.

So it was agony.

So that’s why Castiel was here, lying in bed in the middle of the fifth or sixth sleepless night, using the backscratcher to scrape his wings raw.

He was at the end of his rope. He’d hoped to have found a solution by now, that _some_ Angel _somewhere_ would have come up with a way to endure a molt alone, but _no_. Of course not. 

A few days ago, Castiel would have been quiet about it, kept thinking, kept pondering ways to deal with this, done _something_ to help him sleep, but after nearly a week without sleep, Castiel had ran out of fucks to give.

So, here, in the middle of the night, half-dressed, Castiel stomped out of his quarters to knock on Dean’s next door.

There was a thump inside followed by a half-asleep, “Is something wrong? Are we under attack?”

“No, it’s me,” Castiel said, suddenly realizing exactly what he was doing. 

_Oh no. This is so improper. Is there some way to pass this off as sleepwalking or…?_

“Cas?” The voice called out, immediately followed by the door opening to reveal Dean, having just fastened his belt, and even now running his hands through his hair in an attempt to fix its fluffy disarray.

_Oh no, my hair._

Castiel immediately began doing the same, realizing how unprofessional he looked, how much of a mess he was, and -

“Castiel, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Dean asked, worry clear in his voice.

_Should I tell him? Or should I say I was just having a bad dream, or hallucinating, or something?_

_…_

_Fuck it._

“I can’t sleep, my molt is driving me crazy. Will you help me?” He blurted out before he could finish talking himself out of it.

“Of course, Cas. Whatever you need. My quarters or…?”

“Mine.”

“Alright, give me a second to get dressed and I’ll be right there.”

“…Thank you, Dean.”

“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean said with a tired smirk as he shut the door to finish dressing. 

At that, Castiel returned to his quarters, the embarrassment of what he’d just asked dropping on him like a fifty ton weight. 

_This was so stupid, you woke him up? You couldn’t even wait until daylight? And looking like some half-dead zombie, half-naked and hair an embarrassing mess? What the hell must he think of me?!_

___________

_Fuck, Cas was hot like that._

“No,” Dean breathed to himself, forcing himself to calm down. “No, no, don’t you start that,” he scolded himself as he donned his sleeves and finished fixing his hair.

_I hope Castiel didn’t fix his._

“Noooo, don’t go there.”

The moment he was done, Dean left his quarters to knock on Castiel’s door. Now, being mates, there was a door between both their quarters that they could use to feely traverse and visit each other, but they never used it, always keeping it locked. For propriety’s sake. After all, their relationship wasn’t like that.

“Come in, I didn’t lock it.”

When Dean entered, he found Castiel slouched over the dining table, looking absolutely miserable, poor thing. Dean immediately slithered behind him, asking, “I have to be behind you, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So…” Dean said, looking down at the slightly scruffy looking wings in front of him. “What do I do?”

Castiel briefly explained to him everything he needed to look out for, how to search through the feathers, how to spot pinfeathers, and basically if Castiel asked him to do something to just do it.

“Alright,” Dean said, looking down at the big wings in front of him. Gingerly, he reached out and _very gently_ started poking through some of the feathers near the base. He didn’t want to hurt his wings, they looked so fragile.

“Dean.”

“Yes…?”

“I’m not gonna break.”

“But…”

“If you’re hurting me I’ll tell you.”

“Um,” Dean said, biting his lips as he carded through the feathers a little more forcefully in his search for-

“ _Dean_.”

“Fine!” Dean said, wincing in self-doubt as he dug his fingers into the wings.

They were so soft, a little oily, but still so soft and really a pleasure to touch. “Is… is this a pinfeather?” Dean asked, poking a suspicious quill.

Castiel nodded emphatically at the feeling of one of his itches so close to being scratched.

Dean immediately started rubbing the offending shaft, making it release a soft dust.

And making Castiel release a soft moan.

For a moment, Dean froze. 

_Holy fuck that was hot._

_Nooo!_

Before he could dwell on it any longer, he kept sifting through the feathers, finding another pinfeather to massage.

And this time, Castiel made a soft whimper. He’d been suffering for so long that the relief just felt _so good_ , he couldn’t help it.

 _Is he… going to keep making those noises?_ Dean asked himself, half hopefully, half dreadfully.

Turns out, he was. For a while they were softer, but at the very least there was a soft sigh at each released pinfeather. Not so much for the loose feathers, but the pinfeathers were enough. Especially when Dean got to the feathers on the underside of his wings. He seemed to be a _lot_ more sensitive there.

And, god, the noises suddenly got fucking _obscene_.

This time, while it was mostly the relief at his sensitive wings being cared for and massaged, if Castiel was 100% honest with himself - and he wasn’t - it was partially because, well… he liked it when Dean touched him there. It made his mind wander, imagining his spouse’s hands drifting from his wings to brush across his skin, up and down his sides, fingers along his belly, palms sliding up his thighs…

_Nooo…!_

Meanwhile, Dean was fighting the feeling of his pelvic scales softening, and what was within not-softening. It was getting difficult, as it seems the feathers under here almost seemed to smell like the Angel was aroused, which couldn’t be true because Dean knew Castiel wasn’t interested in anything like that, especially with such a different creature. 

_God, he must find me abhorrently ugly, now that I think about it._

He really wished he hadn’t thought about it. 

So the Naga bit his lip and just kept on trucking, trying his best to redirect bloodflow from his lower torso.

“I think that’s all of them,” Castiel said, sounded rather blissed out, letting out a hum of contentment. 

“Oh, good,” Dean said pulling his hands away awkwardly, leaning down to collect the fallen feathers to make jewelry with, trying to hide his bright blush at the whole affair. 

He half wish it hadn’t ended.

The other half wished it had ended _very_ differently. Mostly the lower half.

“Is that all you need, Cas?” he asked, still worried about the little featherbutt.

“No, no, you’ve done enough, you need your rest.”

“So there _is_ more to do.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Cas, really.”

“No, I’ll just ask an attendant to look into it in the morning.”

Another person… touching Castiel’s wings? He didn’t know why, but for some reason, that made Dean feel so _jealous_. 

Possessive.

“No!” he said, unaware of how forceful his voice had sounded. It even made Castiel lift up his head from the table. “Uh, I mean, no. I’ll do it, might as well get it done. I’m your spouse, it’s my job to take care of you.”

Castiel squinted at him. “You sure? You don’t have to.”

“I’m sure.”

Castiel shrugged. “Alright. There are oil glands at the base of my wings, kinda rub them a bit to get your fingers oily and just, like… scrub them in the wings. But lightly, smoothing them down in the process? Nevermind, I’m explaining it badly, and it’ll get your hands oily, so you’d better not-”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Really,” Dean said, immediately running his fingers along the base to find the little glands. They were very soft, and they made so much oil when he rubbed them.

And Cas made so many _whimpers_.

Goddamn it. 

As quickly and as thoroughly as he could, he “polished” the wings up, almost unable to bear how turned on he was, it was all he could do to keep himself soft. He hoped the rumor that Angels could barely smell was true, because Dean was sure he smelled like a Naga going through puberty.

“There,” he said, but Castiel didn’t respond.

Poor thing had been so tired that the gentle massage had put him to sleep.

_Ohh. He’s so precious asleep._

As silently as he could, Dean lifted the Angel and placed him in his bed before picking up the last of the feathers, unable to ignore the fact that he was now _covered_ in Castiel’s wing oil. And that his wing oil smelled _fucking amazing_.

Dean quickly slithered out of the room and back to his own, sighing in relief. 

And, now that he was covered in such delightful-smelling oils, having just got done touching and pleasing his precious little ma- spouse… he couldn’t bear it any longer.

He quickly settled into his soft nest and began quickly pleasuring himself. Oh, the oil made his hands so slick, felt so good.

Due to scent of the oil and the fact that his fantasies now had a _fucking soundtrack_ , the Naga didn’t last very long at all, coming harder than he ever had before, doing his best to hold back his sounds so that nobody could hear him.

Especially not the person on the other side of the ever-locked door.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/147844638915/pinfeathers).


End file.
